Hope
by flower-envy
Summary: Pairing: Gale/Madge  Type: Hunger Games AU   Prompt: I never meant to kill you; they were selected for the Games


**Title:** Hope

**Pairing:** Gale/Madge

**Type:** _Hunger Games_ AU

**Prompt: **_I never meant to kill you_; they were selected for the Games

**Word Count:** 1,747

"Ladies first," Effie calls enthusiastically.

I find myself crossing my fingers, praying that the name called isn't mine. Maybe not _praying_, but hoping, I guess. Looking around at this District, the District my father's been placed in of, I've seen too many horrible things to still believe in a God or gods or any sort of higher being.

Everything's going in slow motion, like it does every year. I take this time to look around at all the girls in this pen. I wonder how many times each of these girls' names were placed into that bowl. I know Katniss must be in there five or six times for every time I am.

Effie digs about at the bottom of the bowl. She draws out a single, simple piece of paper. It's hard to believe this one slip of paper will change, and likely destroy, one girl's life. "Madge Undersee," she announces.

For a moment, I find myself glancing around, searching for the girl who should be climbing the podium. And then I realize that's _my_ name. My legs don't want to move, but I find them moving anyway. Slowly, I walk toward the stage, scanning the boys' section, trying to get an idea of who will kill me.

"Are there any volunteers to take Ms. Undersee's place?" Effie asks out of habit. There are never any volunteers in District 12. After a minute of silence, she continues, "All right. Now for the boys." She fishes in the boys' bowl for a while until she selects a name. She returns to the microphone and calls, "Gale Hawthorne."

I watch the 18-year-old step forward. He doesn't look surprised at all. His name was probably in that bowl as many times as it is humanly possible. He does, however, look angry. Very angry. And determined.

_I'm never coming back here._

Standing in my pod, completely alone, my mind rushes through the events of the past few weeks – Gale and Haymitch conferencing without me, the interviews and costumes, the training and scoring. I got a very, very low score. Mostly because I can't do anything, at all.

Gale was cheering when my score came up. I'm not sure why; I guess he figured people will leave me alone if my score is so low. His score, on the other hand, was a 10 … so he probably won't last very long – or he'll win. I just hope we aren't the last two tributes left. I think I'd rather not know the person taking my life.

I double check my pin to be sure it's secure just before my pod shoots up to the arena. Haymitch told us to stay away from the Cornucopia. I know, however, that Gale will go for the bow, obviously placed there to draw him in. I glance around as fast as I can, see the lake to my right, and take off in its direction. There's nothing I could do with anything in that Cornucopia, except food. But Gale promised he'd come to find me, and he can hunt, so I'll be fine as long as I have a water source. I didn't see any other water while I was searching the visible area of the arena, so the lake was my only shot. I run right past two or three tributes, and one of them is definitely armed, but no one bothers to attack me. Clearly my low score is all ready saving my life. I crawl down under a bush and wait for Gale, counting the cannon blasts as one tribute after another falls at the Cornucopia. I find myself praying again, hoping beyond hope that I won't see Gale's image in the sky when the cannons stop.

After an hour, everything's gone silent. The voice in the sky calls our attention, and I find a gap in the bush's branches to watch the images above. Eight tributes are all ready dead, but Gale's picture wasn't there. I barely recognize their faces: a boy from District 4, the red-haired girl who looked a little like a fox, the tall one from District 11, and several others. I wonder how many of them Gale killed.

I can remember our meetings with Haymitch. Gale would always talk about how he wasn't willing to kill anyone. Which shocked me just a little, given his obvious hate and determination. But he kept saying that he wants to kill the Capitol, not tributes who were forced to die on television. I assume that's what he and Haymitch would talk about early in the morning before I arrived for breakfast.

"Madge," I hear Gale's whisper from behind me.

"I'm here," I respond quietly, wiggling free from below the bush.

"Well done," he says, offering me a hand. I accept, and he pulls me to my feet as if I weigh no more than a rag doll.

I look around and see other tributes with him. "So, we're in an alliance now?" I ask.

"Sort of," Gale answers vaguely. I look at him inquisitively and he takes the hint, "We're not fighting."

"…What?"

"This was my plan from the beginning. The Capitol wants a show, and I won't give it to them. None of us want to fight, so we aren't going to."

I look around to see at least ten other tributes here. Twelve, including Gale and me. That means there are still four tributes out there willing to fight. Districts 1 and 2. "How will we convince the Careers?"

"We might not. But what fun is it for the viewers to watch four people kill twelve unarmed pacifists?"

"Fun enough that they won't stop it," I respond.

"But it'll change things for the future," Gale says. "We're dead meat anyway, Madge," he continues. "Why not make it count?"

"Cato killed the other tribute from my District," says a dark-skinned girl from District 11. Her name was Rue, if memory serves. She continues, "His name was Thresh, and he didn't die for nothing."

There are tears in her eyes, as if she really thought that boy would've made it out of here. Gale notices my confusion and says, "Cato was taunting Rue at the Cornucopia. Cornered her. Pinned her against the side. He was about to slit her throat, slowly, when Thresh grabbed him from behind. It gave her time to run for it, but Thresh … he didn't make it."

"I'm sorry," I breathe.

"He didn't die for nothing," she repeats, crying and staring at the ground. The girl from 10 pats her on the shoulder gently, muttering that it's okay to cry.

We set up camp by the lake, guarding it like it's our one chance of survival. And it almost is. It's at least a good bargaining chip. Rue climbed a tree and circled the whole arena in search of another water source, but there was none to be found. So the four Careers will have to come here eventually, and then we can talk to them.

There are no cannon blasts for three days. A portion of forest catches fire, and we know the Gamemakers and viewers at home are bored by our nonviolent approach.

On the fourth night, there's an announcement straight from President Snow, broadcast across the country and in the arena's sky screen.

"Pacifists in the arena, this announcement is for you. When sent to the arena, you are expected to fight, to defend yourself, to try to win. Whatever this stunt is, it's not what you're there to do. You have two days to change tactics, or we will change them for you."

The sky goes dark without showing the seal or blowing the horns. "What could he possibly do to us in here?" I ask Gale quietly.

Trying not to worry anyone else, he whispers, "Just as much as he could do to us out there."

That night, we put it to a vote, and unanimously decided that we'd continue with the nonviolent strategy.

Now, two nights later, with still no cannons and no sight of the Careers, the sky lights up once again. President Snow is seen once more. "Each member of the nonviolent group is about to be replaced with a fresh tribute, selected from their District from among their friends and family. The nonviolents must stay in their camp, and will be punished for their crime – and their punishment is death. Your replacing tribute has been instructed to kill you, and their friends and family are being held and interrogated until they have completed their task." The sky goes dark, and we watch as twelve of the arrival pods light up.

"I'm sorry," Gale whispers to me.

"For what?" I respond.

"For getting you killed," he explains. "I was going to try to save you, if Cato and the others showed up. I wanted you to win."

"My mother can't lose someone else to these Games," I whisper. This is the first time since my name was called that I even considered my aunt, Maysilee, and how losing her broke my mother. She hadn't even been able to see me before I left for the Games.

"…I know," Gale murmurs. "I hadn't even thought about that," he admits.

"That wasn't why you were going to save me?" I ask, looking away from the pods to face him.

"No, it wasn't," he answers simply. Before he can continue, the twelve pods open, revealing people of all ages and types. Katniss is among them, and the breath catches in his throat as he realizes she's been sent to kill him.

I look around, scanning for anyone familiar. I have to do a double-take when I see her, because she was the last person I expected to see. I blink, pull myself up straight, square my shoulders, and reach for Gale's hand. His fingers lace through mine as we watch the twelve new arrivals search the freshly-stocked Cornucopia for weapons.

My mother scoops up a knife and walks slowly toward me. Her eyes are distant, like they have always been. She can't even bring herself to apologize, or to try to justify it, as she plunges the knife into my chest. Gale and I collapse at the same time, and I see the arrows protruding from his body. I can hear someone crying, but I can't turn my head away from Gale. He whispers "I'm sorry" once more as I close my eyes for the last time.


End file.
